Murphy's Law
by SilverRayan
Summary: Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Poor Prowl.


So, promised hectate_19 this fic back in November. I am only just finished it last night, and I still have three other prompts from November to fill. I'm so sorry guys! Also, the scene with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker was inspired by a chapter in another story, but I can't remember it's name. I hope the author doesn't mind.

Murphy's Law

Prowl sighed, dropping his head down to rest on his desk in a rather undignified manner. He couldn't bring himself to care that the position belayed his exhaustion, as his door was locked and even his bondmate knew better than to disturb him right now. He was close to having a breakdown, and his seemingly limitless patience had worn thin. Not one thing had gone right this cycle, starting from when he had first come out of recharge.

He had onlined alone; Jazz had the early shift and had been gone long enough for his side of the berth to be cold. Although disappointing, Prowl had expected it. The dislocated doorwing, however, had been a surprise. It had been the pain that had wakened him, radiating in steadily increasing pulses along the damaged appendage and into his back. He had somehow managed to twist himself in recharge so that both 'wings were tucked under his back and bearing his full weight. Ratchet had not been amused. Nor had he particularly enjoyed finding out that the SIC hadn't had more than six orns of sleep in the past decacycle. Normally Jazz would make sure that his mate took proper care of himself, but he had been on an extended mission, and Prowl had thrown himself into his work to distract himself from his worries. He had nearly collapsed in relieved exhaustion when his mate had returned to the Ark, slightly worse for wear but smiling brightly. The Datsun was sure that the entire Ark had probably heard the medic's rather loud lecture.

Acutely embarrassed, he had ventured into the Rec room to grab some energon before his shift, only to find the Dinobots engaged in an all out brawl. Most mechs had fled the room, and the ones who hadn't – with the notable exception of Ironhide – had taken cover under the tables. Breaking _that_ up had taken a lot of effort, time and mechs. Ironhide and Bumblebee had been sent to the medbay with minor injuries, which meant more paperwork. On top of that, he was late for his shift for the first time in over one hundred vorns. So, Prowl had already been in a foul mood when he finally got to his office, several breems late.

For a while after that, all had seemed quiet. He managed to make a reasonable dent in his paperwork, and had begun the plans for Senator Galloway's tour. The stressed former enforcer dared to hope that his day would improve. Silly Prowl.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were dragged into see him by an irate Ratchet. The medic was almost incoherent with rage, to the point where he could barely speak. The twins had their heads bowed, looking like scolded younglings. Which, as it turned out, was exactly what they were.

Haltingly, and never looking at Prowl, the youngsters explained that as younglings on the streets they had been picked up by a mech called Clench, who had been a kingpin in the gladiator games. Impatient with waiting for them to grow up, the mech had had them transferred into adult frames prematurely. When they had been rescued by the Autobots they had been too afraid to tell them the truth, having experienced firsthand how their trainers had treated them like glitches because of it. Instead they had let the Autobots assume they were young adults. In truth they were only just coming of age now. Bluestreak was actually older than them by several vorns, and most of the crew still considered him to be a youngling. They had only gotten caught now because the stress on their sparks from having been forced into the wrong frames for all these vorns had finally taken its toll.

The twins had gone into convulsions, and their sparks had tried to separate from their frames. Luckily they had been tormenting Ratchet and Hoist in the medbay, and the two had managed to stabilize the troublemakers. Still, Ratchet needed parts from Cybertron to ensure that the young mechs wouldn't relapse. And then, as soon as Ratchet had escorted the twins from his office, presumably back to the medbay, Wheeljack's lab had exploded. Again. Perfect.

It was several joors later, after Prowl had rearranged the duty schedule to exclude the twins from all but light duty, overseeing the repairs of Wheeljack's lab, and seeing said mech sent to medical bay, the Prowl finally returned to his office, where he was now, debating whether or not he should get up and face the rest of the day or just give up. He dearly wanted to do the latter, but his conscience wouldn't let him slack off. He forced himself upright, trying not to think about the numerous problems that had plagued him throughout the day – everything form not seeing Jazz, to the true age of the twins, and even Wheeljack's lab had conspired against him to ruin his day. Vaguely, a part of his processor toyed with the thought that he was being melodramatic, but he really didn't care. He recalled Jazz telling him about a law that some human had come up with – everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. He had scoffed at the time, but today had proved the law may have some credibility after all. Speaking of Jazz, a comm. request was coming through from his mate.

"Prowl here."

"Prowler baby! I'm glad I caught you. You're not busy are you?" The words were normal, but Prowl knew his mate well enough to tell that there was an underlying tension to them.

"Not at all Jazz."

"Good. Um, do you think that you can come get me? I dunno if I can make it back on my own." Concern filled Prowl, making him forget his exhaustion.

"What happened?"

"I might accidentally have gotten stuck in a sand pit. There's a ton of them out here. My front tires are completely bogged down and I can't get any traction to pull myself out. I would have called Ratchet, but well…"

"You're embarrassed." Prowl understood. Jazz didn't like making mistakes. He liked it even less when others saw him make them, or found out about them. As Head of Ops and the TIC he was under considerable pressure to stay cool in any situation and find the way out. When he couldn't he felt like he failed.

"Send me your coordinates. I'll come get you." He was already moving, signing off of his shift (which he noticed was conveniently over), locking his office and heading for the Ark's entrance. He transformed and sped off into the desert.

Thirty minutes later he found himself nearing the coordinates his mate had specified, but his scanners were showing no signs of the sand pits that Jazz had claimed had pulled him in. Actually, thinking on it more closely, Jazz always had his scanners running when he was in unstable terrain, so how could he have missed the pit in the first place? And he couldn't forget that he hadn't got the comm. until his shift had ended. So what was Jazz planning? He didn't have to wait long to find out. Up ahead, just beyond a rather large sand dune was Jazz. His mate was completely free and unharmed, a cocky grin on his lips. Spread out behind the Porsche, Prowl could see a large checkered tarp, a basket, and energon cubes.

"Hey Prowler."

"Jazz, what is all this?" Prowl moved slowly, careful not to trip. Getting sand out from between plates was a tedious and unpleasant task.

"You're stressed baby. I've been feeling it all day. You need to unwind, and get away from the Ark for a bit. So here we are." The saboteur wrapped his arms around his mate, pulling the unresisting mech into a warm embrace before leading him back to the tarp. He sat down, pulling Prowl into his lap, one hand going for his sore doorwing, which was beginning to throb again, while his other hand pressed a cube into the SIC's hand. "Drink up love." Prowl accepted the cube, sipping it slowly. Both mechs were silent, content to simply bask in each other's presence. Jazz's hand moved from the damaged joint to trace designs over the rest of the door wing, before shifting his attentions to the other. It wasn't long before Jazz found himself with a lapful of recharging Datsun. His poor lover was really out of it to shut down so easily outside. Jazz didn't wake him though; Primus knew that Prowl needed his rest. Jazz set his alarm, wanting to wake Prowl in time for the main event, before allowing himself to drift off as well.

----------

"Prowl. Prowl, wake up." Something was shaking his shoulder insistently. He tried to ignore it, to stay in the warm depths of recharge, but the shaking simply became more insistent. Giving up, he onlined his optics.

He was snuggled into Jazz's side, with his mate curled around him. Said mate was currently grinning at him, pleased to see him finally online. That was when Prowl noticed that they were not in their quarters.

"Jazz? Where are we?" He remembered coming out to meet Jazz, but could not fathom why they had not gone back to the ship.

"It's alright love. We're still outside, but don't worry. I thought this might happen, so I made sure this place was secure. Red double checked it for me. Come on, sit up! I want you to see this!" Satisfied, Prowl allowed Jazz to pull him upright. "Look!" Prowl did so, and gasped. The sun was just beginning to peak over the desert sand, golden light bathing the dunes in a warm golden light. Streaks of pink and orange danced in the sky above them, and golden beads of sun reflected off sand crystals, dancing across their armor.

"It's beautiful." Prowl was in awe. He had seen some of earth's great natural wonders, but none were as spectacular as the sunrise. It was simple, but powerful.

"I'm glad you like it. I figured you could use a break, and I've been wanting to watch the sunrise with you almost since we landed." Prowl said nothing, he merely turned and pressed a loving kiss to the TIC's lips. It started chaste, but gradually grew deeper as passions erupted. For a while all was silent, except for the sounds of two mechs as they made love under the rising sun.

----------

Unfortunately, duty called, and some time later found the bondmates leisurely packing up, the sun high in the sky above him. Prowl still wasn't sure what the point of the checkered cloth had been, but Jazz had laughed and said that they were traditional for picnics.

"It wouldn't be the same without it!" Prowl ignored the illogicalness of the statement, choosing instead to put away the rest of the cubes.

"Thank you Jazz. You are correct, I really did need this. And I think you did too."

"Yeah. With the increase in Con attacks lately we haven't really had a chance to just spend time together. I miss you. When I see you it's either in meetings, over paperwork, or we're recharging. It's frustrating you know?"

"That it is. Perhaps we should schedule time put aside for just us then."

"Like a date night?"

"Yes. Perhaps we can go on another picnic, or go see that concert you've been raving about."

"Hey! I have not been raving!"

"Of course not. You have not spoken incessantly to anyone in hearing range for the three months about it."

"Prowler!" Prowl laughed.

"If you want to make me take it back, you had better catch me." Jazz watched, shocked, as his mate transformed, turned on his sirens, and took off across the desert. A moment later he followed suit, laughing as he chased after the disappearing Datsun.


End file.
